


The Office Party

by Wolfsbride



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Age Difference, F/M, Hand Jobs, Older Woman/Younger Man
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-10
Updated: 2014-10-10
Packaged: 2018-02-20 15:56:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2434532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolfsbride/pseuds/Wolfsbride
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>M and Bond come to a realization.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Office Party

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tinnean](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tinnean/gifts), [Persiflage](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persiflage/gifts), [tayryn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tayryn/gifts).



> A friend, who is not in the Bond fandom, but likes my Bond stuff anyway, asked for something with Judi's dress from the 2005 Pride and Prejudice movie. Since I love Judi in period costume, it was not a hardship.
> 
> Also, the hardest part of writing - coming up with the title. Apologies.

Bond opened the door of his office, with the intention of leaving early before he was cornered, and was surprised to find M standing on the other side. Her mouth was set in a line that he was all too familiar with, and her blue eyes were sparking. Her arms were folded, pushing up her breasts.

"Uh," he said eloquently.

Lowering her arms, M pointed behind him. "Back inside, Bond." 

"M." 

"Get back inside." Her tone brooked no argument.

Bond sighed and did as he was told for once. M followed him, closing the door behind her.

Turning, Bond attempted to look as innocent as possible. "M," he tried again.

"Be quiet," M snapped. "I can't believe you were trying to sneak away!"

Bond groaned. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but these office things are a bore to begin with. It being a bloody fancy dress party is going to make it even more hellish. Whose brilliant idea was it in the first place?”

“I don’t know, but if I find out, I’ll wring their neck. Just because the damn day happened to fall in October this year.” M scowled. “And to make matters worse, it’s going to be a joint get-together, between us and MI5. Something about fostering better working relations between the two agencies.” Giving Bond a sour look, M’s scowl deepened. “I suppose you haven’t bothered to procure an outfit, seeing as you were all set to run off.”

Bond sighed. “No ma’am.” 

“Right. Come with me. If I have to endure this ridiculous event, you’re certainly not getting off the hook.” 

“Where are we going?” Bond hurried after M as she left his office and walked over to her own in order to collect her things.

“To get you an outfit, naturally.”

“I think I’m quite capable of getting my own costume, ma’am,” Bond muttered, as he helped M get her coat on.

“Hmph. You’d probably come dressed as a tramp just to annoy me.”

Bond paused in the middle of smoothing down the back of M’s coat collar. “Why on earth would what I chose to wear annoy you?”

“Never you mind. Come along now.” M left her office at a brisk pace with Bond rushing to keep up.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Sitting next to Bond as they drove to one of the shops that she knew had high quality costumes, M tried not to feel guilty about all but ordering him to attend the office function. It truly was a matter of misery loving company. If she could have got away with it, she’d have run off as well, so it wasn’t as though she faulted Bond for that. She studiously ignored the part of her that wanted Bond there solely so she would have something nice to look at.

After Bond parked and helped M out of his car, he looked the shop over, barely refraining from giving a low whistle. It was a large structure, taking up nearly one full side of the shopping centre that housed it. No wonder M wanted to come here. They probably had every type of costume imaginable.

He held the door open for M, then followed her inside. They’d barely crossed the threshold when they were greeted by a tall blonde woman. She was smartly dressed in a crisp white blouse and a black A line skirt; her name tag read Emma. 

“Good evening and welcome to Mad World Costume Hire. May I be of assistance?”

Her tone was pleasant, but not overly fawning and M was pleased to note that she didn’t pay too much attention to Bond, who was taking up his customary spot just behind her. “Yes, thank you, Emma. I’d like to take a look at your 18th century naval costumes, please.”

“Of course. Right this way.” Emma turned, and started walking towards the long aisles where the costumes were hung.

M and Bond followed, with Bond mumbling, “18th century? That’s rather specific.”

“If you must know, Bond, since I’ve already picked out my costume, I thought it might be nice if you wore something that complimented mine.”

Bond glanced at M out of the corner of his eye. He couldn’t help wondering exactly how much thought M had put into the idea, but he knew better than to ask.

After a few minutes, Emma finally stopped. “This is our 18th century section. In this aisle, and the next four over, you’ll find the naval uniforms, but there are also other costumes of the era, ma’am, in case you want to look at something different. Please let me know if I can help you with anything else. I’ll be up at the front.”

M nodded and Emma walked away, leaving the two of them surrounded velvet and brass. M walked along the aisle, looking the outfits over, sometimes reaching out to feel the fabric. Bond wandered behind her, waiting to see what she would pick out. Pausing, M pulled one costume off the rack and turned, holding it up for Bond to look at. 

It was a white shirt, with knee length olive coloured breeches and the white stockings that were popular at that time. There was also an ivory coloured hip length jacket with heavy gold braid along its edges and trimming the two large pockets that were placed near the jacket’s bottom. A dozen tiny copper buttons finished off the look. In addition to the jacket, the costume came with a longer overcoat, in black, with an ivory lining that matched the jacket, and the same heavy gold braid along its edges and on the bottom quarter of the coat’s sleeves. 

Bond frowned. “Do I actually get a say?” When M nodded, Bond shook his head. “Then no and no. The only time I want to be near that much gold is when I’m at the bank.”

M rolled her eyes, but put the costume back, and continued down the row. They repeated the process several more times, until M, realizing that Bond’s main complaint seemed to be the ostentatiousness of the garments, pulled a more sedate costume off the rail that it was hanging on. This version consisted of a blue, long tailed naval jacket, with a white fabric trim along the front and sleeve ends. Two rows of seven gold buttons, one row for each side of the jacket, highlighted the white trim. Under the jacket was a white waistcoat, and beneath that was a white shirt with a loose ruffled collar. A pair of ivory coloured breeches hung below the waistcoat.

M arched a brow. “Well?”

Bond looked the costume over a moment. “Better.” It wasn’t as garish as the others they’d looked at, and walking up and down the rows with M talking about the fashion of the era had imbued him with a little spirit of the month. He was surprised to find that he was enjoying himself. With that in mind, and thinking that he had some idea of what sort of outfit M might be wearing, he decided to venture a request.

“Ma’am? If I might take a look around? You can veto my choice if it doesn’t meet your approval.”

Curious as to what Bond would come up with, M nodded. She watched as he disappeared down a different aisle, then continued slowly making her way along, still keeping an eye out for something they both might deem suitable, in case Bond’s choice turned out to be utter rubbish. Minutes passed, and M was just about to go looking for her wayward agent, wondering if he’d used looking for an outfit as an excuse to nip off after all, when Bond returned. 

He was holding a costume over his arm. When he saw M, he held it up. Looking it over, M shook her head, then smiled wryly. “Well, that does better suit your nature, Bond.”

Bond smirked, then led the way to the till.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Eve Moneypenny smiled at M’s reflection as she carefully fixed the styled wig over M’s short locks. “You look absolutely smashing, ma’am. The purple suits you.”

M returned Eve’s smile. “Thank you, and thank you for helping me with this bloody outfit. I don’t know what I was thinking. Should’ve just come wearing a sack and called myself potatoes.”

Laughing, Eve placed the long curl of hair at the bottom of the wig over M’s shoulder. “I dare say if you had, you would be the most elegant sack of potatoes in attendance.”

That made M laugh as well, and when Eve stepped back, M was still chuckling as she smoothed the elaborately gathered ruffles on the front of the dress before turning around. “I’m not the only one that looks smashing,” she said, complimenting Eve’s pirate costume. 

Eve grinned. “Thank you. It’s just as well the guns are fake. I won’t be tempted to shoot anyone tonight.”

M sighed. “Believe me, Eve. Before the night is out, you’ll want to throw those things at someone’s head.”

“Speaking from experience, ma’am?”

“Unfortunately, yes. Well, let’s get this debacle over with.” 

~*~*~*~*~*~

For the first time ever, Bond actually arrived on time for an office party. It wasn’t just that M had insisted on his attendance that sparked his punctuality. In truth, he really wanted to see what she had chosen for herself. The large conference room was decorated in the traditional manner, and there were rows of long tables that held finger foods and bowls of punch. 

Bond looked around, trying to see if he could spot M in the crowd of people, wondering if he’d recognize her even if he did. As he scanned the party goers, he noticed that there was a very clear line of demarcation, people grouped on either side of the room, with no mingling between them. So much for fostering better working relations. That would probably take some very heavy alcohol in the punch. 

He spotted Tanner, who was dressed as a Town Crier, dancing with Moneypenny, and was about to go over to ask whether either of them had seen M, when he felt someone looking at him. Turning, Bond sucked in a breath, and barely kept his jaw from dropping. Across the room, M stood staring back at him, looking as though she’d just stepped from the pages of a history book. 

Under the lighting, the deep purple of her dress shone. The fitted bodice and full skirt accentuated M’s figure, even as it covered everything. Bond crossed room quickly; head empty of thought, drawn to her presence. As he drew closer, he became aware of the accessories that complemented the dress. 

The necklace, made up of several different sized gems, all in the same colour of the dress, teased, calling his attention to the tops of M’s breasts that were hidden from view. Purple gemmed earrings dangled, and in her wig, tiny jewels were woven, sparkling in the light. The total effect was stunning. 

It wasn’t until he was a few feet away that Bond realized M had one last accompaniment to her costume. She was holding what looked like a short length of wood in her right hand at her side, and as he covered the last bit of distance between them, she raised her right hand. The wood snapped open and suddenly the lower half of M’s face was hidden by a delicately painted fan. Only her blue eyes were visible and as he came to a stop in front of her, he felt as though he’d never be able to look away.

~*~*~*~*~*~

When M came through into the conference room with Eve at her side, she was instantly mobbed by a small group of higher ups who all wanted to talk shop and seemed to think she would be more malleable in this setting than the usual business environment. Eve quickly excused herself, leaving M alone with the sharks, but M didn’t blame her. She chatted lightly, careful to keep the conversation to small talk, adroitly deflecting any questions or statements designed to draw her into saying something that could be used against her. 

After several painfully dull minutes, she managed to extricate herself and moved around the room, people watching, rather than approaching anyone. She paused by one of the tables, about to look it over to see if there was anything to her liking, when a flash of blue caught her eye. She turned to get a better look, and realized it was Chairman Mallory, decked out in the same style of naval costume she’d been considering for Bond. 

As she studied the man, she decided that while Mallory did justice to the outfit, she thought that Bond would have worn it better, though she was now relieved he had chosen something completely different. As if conjured by her thoughts, she saw Bond across the room and was unable to suppress the flutter in her tummy at his appearance. 

He’d chosen a highwayman’s costume and was wearing a long, black cloak, which framed his broad shoulders, and draped heavily, concealing his body as he stood motionless. It was only when he began to stride towards her, that she caught glimpses of the white ruffled shirt and silk waistcoat, the close-fitting breeches that emphasized his muscular thighs, and the black leather boots with brown tops. She noted that he’d forgone the white wig in favour of something that seemed to blend in with his regular hair colour, making it look as though he’d only grown his hair long and tied it back. 

A pistol on one hip and a sword on the other completed the outfit. All in all, M thought he looked quite dashing, more so, than in his regular suits, and when he stopped in front of her, gazing down with a rapt expression, she automatically brought her hand up and snapped her fan open, hiding her face as she felt a flush heat her cheeks. 

“M... Ma’am.... Olivia. You look.... Magnificent,” Bond breathed, voice hushed and tinged with awe. Taking her left hand in his right, he lifted it a little, before bending over and bestowing a kiss on her knuckles. When he straightened, he retained his grip, and continued to stare.

M shivered as Bond’s lips touched her skin, then forced herself to close and lower the fan. Clearing her throat, she pulled herself together and managed to find the words in order speak. “You look rather debonair yourself, Bond. The gentleman bandit.” She was about to ask him for her hand back, as he seemed to have forgotten he was stilling holding on to her, when his thumb started to move in gentle circles. 

The spot where he touched her tingled and the warmth of his hand on hers heated the rest of her body. It didn’t help that he was watching her with such an open gaze of fascination that it was like a physical caress. The intent look deepened her breathing and she tried to think of something to say to break the enthrallment that surrounded them. 

The moment was not broken, only changed when Bond gave her hand a little tug, pulling her closer. “Would you do me the honour of accepting a dance, ma’am?”

M knew she should say no. She was already treading in dangerous waters feeling the way she did. The flutter in her stomach had picked up its pace, and beneath her structured bodice, her nipples were hardening. However, Bond looked so bloody hopeful, she couldn’t bear to disappoint him. 

She nodded quickly, before her resolve left her and let him take her right hand in his. The fan dangled from her wrist, attached as it was by a fancy bit of ribbon. She was very glad for the reinforced build of her dress’ top and the heavy fabric of its skirt when Bond placed his left hand on her waist. In deference to the difference in their heights, M put her left hand on his upper arm instead of trying to reach for his shoulder, and followed Bond’s lead as he guided her away from the tables and further into the room. 

As they danced, M marveled that she was in enough control of her feet to keep from stepping on Bond’s toes, or worse, tumbling to the ground. His laser-like focus was exhilarating, yet unnerving. She was beginning to feel giddy, and knew that it had nothing to do with being swirled and twirled across the floor, but rather with the man holding her in his arms. 

She looked up at Bond wondering how on Earth they were going to go back to being employer and employee when it was clear the veil had torn away, leaving behind simply a man and a woman, and the myriad of feelings that shimmered between them. As the music slowed, indicating the end of the piece, M’s eyes widened when Bond gathered her closer and started to dip his head. 

She was so tempted to let him kiss her, but the responsible side of her nature came to the forefront, bitterly berating her about the scene it would cause. She moved her hand from Bond’s arm, intending to put it on his chest and break his attention, when Garth Mallory, unintentionally popped their little bubble by tapping Bond on the shoulder. 

“Do you mind if I cut in?”

M eased herself out of Bond’s embrace with as much grace as she could manage before he had time to tell the chairman no, as it was apparent he was going to do. “Of course not. Thank you for the dance, Bond,” she said, before she let Mallory whirl her away. She was unable to tell which was stronger: relief or disappointment.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Bond glared as he watched Gareth Mallory swan off with his boss. His hand twitched to his right hip before he recalled that neither his pistol nor his sword were in fact real, and that no, he couldn’t actually call Mallory out for a duel. More’s the pity. 

His glare intensified as he watched the two of them circle the room. It was only when he was bumped from behind that he remembered he was standing in midst of the dancing couples. One of the girls from Q division came up to him, and he mumbled a rather insincere apology to her request for a dance. He turned away, muttering under his breath, and stalked off to the side before he could be accosted again.

Bond took himself off to a corner, from where he could observe without being bothered. He really didn’t like the way Mallory was handling M, though if asked he wouldn’t have been able to point out anything that was inappropriate. He wasn’t holding her too tightly, nor were his hands wandering. None of that seemed to matter; it just didn’t feel right to see M in someone else’s arms.

The thought made Bond pause, and he became conscious of the fact that he was really quite angry at having M taken away. It was only the knowledge that it would reflect badly on M, and that she would be completely disappointed in him, that kept him from going over and punching Mallory. 

_Well, fuck._ Now all the flirting he did with M made sense. It wasn’t in his nature to keep pursuing someone who didn’t want to be pursued. There were enough fish in the sea, as the saying went, that if the person wasn’t interested, he’d just pick someone else. 

But that’d never been the case with M. She’s never risen to his flirts, and yet he’d kept on, turning the whole thing into a challenge rather than leaving it alone as he had on other occasions. He really was an idiot. It’d taken seeing M out of context to make him realize how deeply his feelings ran.

~*~*~*~*~*~

As she and Mallory danced, M couldn’t stop herself from keeping an eye on Bond. She saw him glaring after them, and she saw him turn down an opportunity to dance with the lovely Ms Lancaster from Q division. For a moment, she thought she was going to have a brawl to deal with when his hand clenched at his side, and she nearly slumped in Mallory’s arms when Bond finally vacated the dance area, and stood glowering at them from his spot off to the side. 

“Are you alright, M?”

“Hm?” Glancing up at the chairman, M nodded. “Oh. Yes. Sorry, I’ve rather a lot on my mind, I’m afraid.” 

“Ah yes. One of the pitfalls of the job. Hard to turn the brain off at times.”

“Indeed,” M agreed, and schooled her expression into one which she hoped conveyed attentiveness, even though her thoughts were racing. It was really quite embarrassing how easily she’d fooled herself into thinking she had no feelings for her agent, other than those of a professional nature. Looking back, she now saw all the times she had let Bond get away with things she would have reprimanded or demoted any other agent for, not that any other agent would dare behave the way Bond did around her. 

Most telling was the fact that dancing with Mallory made no impression on her. There was no funny little wobble in her middle; her heart wasn’t pounding in her chest; Mallory’s eyes, though pretty, didn’t make her breath catch in her throat. Dear Gods, she really was a hopeless case.

Every turn around the floor gave her a glimpse of Bond and it would have been amusing how his expression got a little more sour every time, if she wasn’t also wondering whether the damn song was ever going to end. Mallory’s chuckle interrupted her thoughts. M looked up from staring at the gold buttons on Mallory’s naval jacket. “What is it?” 

“Oh nothing really. Just... Never thought I’d see the day when Bond would be in a room full of eligible women, and not be putting the moves on anyone.”

M felt her mouth flatten into a thin line before she could stop herself from reacting. “Perhaps he knows better than to soil his own nest, Chairman.” The words came out razor sharp, and it was fortunate that the song ended in that moment, as she had no desire to stay in Mallory’s presence a moment longer. 

She moved away, refusing to look back to see what sort of reaction her behaviour had elicited, but hoping it would be taken in the context of an employer standing up for their employee. She left the conference room, moving as quickly as the bulky dress would allow. She was grateful that Mallory hadn’t chosen to follow her; she needed a moment to gather herself, before she was the one who ended up causing a scene. 

She had only made it about three quarters of way down the hall, when a hand on her arm halted her flight. She turned, a sharp retort on her lips, only to realize it was Bond who had stopped her. She shook her head. “Not now Bond.”

Bond was not deterred. “Are you alright? Did he do something?” 

She was about to snap that she could look after herself, when Bond’s worried look swept away her ire. She patted the hand on her arm. “I’m fine. He just made a remark that annoyed me.” She tightened her grip when Bond tensed and looked back over his shoulder. “Really, James. It’s nothing.”

Quickly, Bond faced her again. “Olivia,” he murmured. 

M swallowed. His low tone started everything tumbling again. She really wished he would stop looking at her like she was the only important thing. 

Bond stepped into her personal space. Raising his free hand, he touched her cheek, tracing the lines on her face. “Olivia,” he whispered. “Olivia, may I kiss you?”

M trembled. The touch, and the words, and the reverent tone, nearly overwhelmed her. She covered his hand on her cheek with her own. “James, I don’t...”

Her reluctance seemed to make Bond a little more aware. He looked around, as if only just realizing they were standing in the hallway, which was not a very appropriate place for such an emotional display. Lowering his hand from her face, he took her hand in his other one, and moved back, guiding her rest of the way down the corridor, turning to the right when they got to the end. 

M was just about to ask where on Earth they were going when Bond ducked into one of the smaller meeting rooms, closing the door behind them. The two of them stood staring at each other for a moment, then M spoke. “James, we... we shouldn’t be doing this.”

“It’s just a kiss, Olivia,” Bond said quietly, moving to stand in front of M once more. 

Putting her hand on Bond’s chest to stop him from coming any closer, M shook her head. “I think we both know that’s not true.” That move turned out to be a mistake as she could feel the line of Bond’s muscles beneath his waistcoat and shirt. Her fingers curled, unconsciously petting him, until Bond gripped her wrist lightly. 

“Olivia, please.” 

It was said so plaintively that M threw caution to the wind, and took a step forward, putting her other hand on Bond’s arm for balance as she rose up on her toes. Bond met her halfway, groaning as she brushed her mouth over his repeatedly. She licked at his lips, then nipped them.

Moving her hand from Bond’s chest, she cupped his jaw, fingers stroking softly by Bond’s mouth. Bond leaned into the kiss, trying to deepen it, but M just nibbled and sucked until Bond pulled back, panting.

“No fair teasing, Olivia.”

He sounded so put out that Olivia pulled him back down again and kissed him properly. This time she let Bond take over the kiss, shuddering as his mouth pressed against hers, and his tongue stroked over and around her own. When he licked the inside of her cheek, she whimpered; her fingers tightening involuntarily on his upper arm and the back of his neck. When they finally broke apart to catch their breath, they were both trembling slightly and breathing heavily. 

M touched her fingers to her mouth. Her lips felt swollen, and Bond’s looked like he’d been doing exactly what they’d been doing. “Oh Gods. James, we have to stop. We can’t go out of here looking like we’ve had a roll in the hay.” Well, she couldn’t at least. If Bond showed up later with puffy lips, no one would think anything of it. 

Instead of moving away, Bond let his hands drift lower, clenching his fingers in the skirt of M’s dress. M knew what he wanted. She didn’t have to look down to know that he was showing his tackle to all and sundry due to the close fit of his breeches and the thinness of the material. 

He wasn’t the only one that wanted. Her breasts ached; her nipples rubbing roughly against the inside of her bodice. She would dearly love for him to hold her breasts, to pinch and roll and tug her nipples. Her pussy throbbed, warming, muscles flexing, and she moaned. 

That seemed to snap Bond’s tenuous control and he hurried M back against one of the long tables and lifted her up, setting her on the table’s edge. M clutched at his shoulders as Bond fumbled with her dress’ skirt. After several minutes, Bond began to curse, as the reams of fabric and multiple folds and layers fought against him. No matter how much he tugged and lifted, he seemed to get no closer to where he wanted to be.

“Jesus fucking Christ! It’s a wonder these people were able to have enough sex to make babies. I feel like you’re not even in this bloody dress.”

Laughing, in spite of her arousal, M swung her closed fan into her palm, gripped it, then bonked Bond on the head. She laughed even harder when he gave her the most adorably startled look she’d ever seen. While Bond grumbled and rubbed his head, M dropped the fan. It twisted and turned as it hung on the ribbon, then bounced against Bond’s thighs as she lowered her hand to cup Bond through his breeches. 

“Fuck!” Bond hissed. He shuddered with the effort of keeping his hips still. 

“Well, you certainly can’t go out looking like this. You’ll be arrested for indecent exposure.” M rubbed her thumb over the head of Bond’s covered cock, then pulled away, shushing him when he started to whine. 

“Just a moment.” She pulled a lace handkerchief from the left sleeve of her dress, switched it to her left hand, then quickly undid the buttons of Bond’s breeches. They’d been gone long enough as it was. Someone would soon be taking note of her absence. Bond scrunched the handfuls of cloth he was still holding tightly when M eased his prick free and began to rub the fluid at the tip over and around the head before dragging her thumb down the shaft a little. She repeated the motion over and over.

“Oh God!” Bond gasped. 

“Does that feel good, James?” M stared down at Bond’s cock. It fit her hand snugly and her pussy spasmed as she thought about how it would feel to have Bond fucking her. 

“Oh God. God, yes. Fuck. Olivia. Olivia. Please. Faster. Rub faster. Oh Christ, please!” 

Seeing and hearing Bond reduced to babbling, inflamed M, and she wished they had enough time for Bond to strip her out of her fucking dress, and put all his training to work. She couldn’t even shove her hand between her legs and hump her hand. She circled her thumb around the head of Bond’s cock again. Well, there wasn’t any reason one of them couldn’t have fun. “It’s okay, James. You can fuck my hand if you want. Maybe even pretend you’re fucking my tits, hmm?”

Bond bit his lip to keep in his shout. His hips snapped up, almost without his input. It was rough going since the only thing to ease the stroking was the thin precome leaking from his prick, but at this point he didn’t care. M was whispering filthy things, and his balls were tightening. 

He thrust rapidly through the circle of her palm and fingers, grunting sharply each time her thumb flicked tip of his cock. He gritted his teeth and wailed as he climaxed, hips jerking back and forth with each spasm. M deftly caught his release in her handkerchief, and cleaned him off when she was sure he was finished. 

She carefully tucked him back into his breeches, mindful of how sensitive he was apt to be. As Bond slumped against her, she shoved the soiled handkerchief back up her sleeve, and patted his back. “You owe me a fuck and a dry cleaning, Mr Bond.”

Bond chuckled weakly. “Yes, ma’am.”


End file.
